


there's gasoline in your heart, there's fire in mine

by tworoads



Series: gasoline [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tworoads/pseuds/tworoads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn is sleepy but genuine, “how was your night? with harry?”</p><p>there seems to be a hesitance in zayn’s voice, but it’s probably just distaste for the hour of the morning showing through. he tucks himself up against zayn. “really good,” louis tells him, a mirror image of lovestruck bliss, “like, really, really good. how I love harry styles, let me count the ways.”</p><p> </p><p>british university AU where they don't actually do a whole lot of studying. louis falls head over heels for harry, his best friend zayn is dating liam without the sex and niall tends bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's gasoline in your heart, there's fire in mine

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a play on the liam/zayn dynamic and turned into 9,000 words of louis' pining. there will probably be a liam/zayn sequel in the future. title comes from gasoline by alpine. please enjoy!

“remind me again why i have to come?” louis asks, moments away from (and honestly not above) stomping his foot. he doesn’t want to go. “i don’t want to go.”

“bad luck,” zayn quips, sliding into his leather jacket and examining himself in the mirror on his wardrobe door, “i don’t want liam thinking i’m some sad fuck with no friends. you’re coming,” he says steadily, reaching for some hairspray to fix his hair. 

“i thought relationships were all about being honest with the other person?”

zayn glares at him, squirting a puff of hairspray right into his face.

-

as expected, zayn abandons him approximately thirty seconds into the night to make eyes at liam and hold hands with liam and do things with liam that involve not _actually_ doing things with him. “we’re taking it slow,” zayn keeps saying. louis personally doesn’t understand why, but zayn also keeps saying that he “doesn’t expect him to.”

the beer is cheap and pretty disgusting, and the music isn’t much better. floating through the people cluttered about the flat, louis makes a beeline for the sound system and scrolls through the ipod docked into the speakers. something slow and soft and acoustic is playing, and while it’s pretty, it’s kind of boring. feeling patriotic, he locates the _spice girls_ and shakes his hips to the music that begins.

“hey,” a boy with curly hair and a frown appears.

louis looks up from his cup and meets the boy’s frowning face. he's taller than louis, but younger; definitely younger with smooth tanned skin and full, pink lips and curling tendrils of hair. louis thinks that he looks mildly confused and irritated, and it suits him. he's downright beautiful.

he says, “hey yourself.”

the curly haired _prince_ ignores him and says, “i was listening to that,” with a frown still playing across his face.

“it was slow and making me kind of sad,” louis admits, “thought i’d brighten up the mood, y’know?”

he seems to calculate things for a moment before speaking again. “you know, liam doesn’t like people touching his sound equipment,” he says.

“or any of his equipment, apparently,” louis mutters with a snort, thinking of the silly little dance that zayn and liam have been doing around each other for weeks now.

one of the boy’s eyebrows raises. “you know liam?”

“maybe, kind of,” he replies, aloof, “not really, technically. you do, though?”

as he waits for the answer, watching the boy’s face relax from its irritation to something else, maybe curiosity? the next spice girls song plays through the speakers and the boy doesn’t even try to change it, and louis has missed his opportunity to do the rap in _wannabe_ , and his beer is losing all of its foam, but he totally doesn’t even mind.

“i'm his roommate,” the curly haired boy replies, voice slow and winding like the smoke that curls off a cigarette.

-

“going to liam’s!” zayn calls out from his bedroom a few days later.

louis is prepared. he’d heard zayn laugh fondly into his phonecall with liam through the walls and then sing all obnoxious and excited shower, and smelt his aftershave wafting down the hallway to know that he was getting ready to go over there so louis’d gotten ready himself. “lemme walk you,” he insists, darting out of his room so quickly he almost got whiplash.

zayn eyes him suspiciously, “you wanna walk me,” he repeats.

“uh-huh.”

“to liam’s flat?”

“yup. it’s dangerous out there.”

“it’s four blocks away?”

“what is this, twenty questions?” louis asks, grabbing his keys and pushing zayn out the door, “come on, your lover awaits.”

“you know,” zayn huffs, fifteen minutes later, “you really don’t have to knock on the door for me.”

“i’ve never even met liam,” louis replies indignantly, “he could be a serial rapist who wants to use your skin as the centerpiece for his new couch, for all i know.”

“you’ve seen his couch,” zayn says with a frown, butting out his cigarette on the stoop of the building, “it’s not made out of skin.”

“whatever, just. come on.”

“why are you so impatient? you didn’t even have to come,” zayn complains as they climb the stairs together and louis knocks on the door.

the door opens and the curly haired wonder from last weekend’s party opens it, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. he blinks for a moment, looking at louis before turning his eyes to zayn. “liam,” he calls out, a bit of foam running down the corner of his lips, “date’s here.”

“oh,” zayn mutters pointedly, “so you two have met.”

“not properly,” the boy says through a foamy mouthful, “i’m ‘arry.”

“louis,” he feigns casual, but finally has a name to the face. _harry_. definitely suits him. harry is the type of name that could come tumbling out of louis’ lips as he wound his fingers through harry’s messy head of hair.

“louis?” another voice comes, and another boy appears in the doorway who louis knows is liam after extensive facebook stalking and the photos that have been clogging up zayn’s phone. he’s cuter in person, with wispy brown hair and big honest brown eyes and very toned arms. louis kind of sees the appeal. “this is louis?” he asks, eyes flickering between him and zayn as if they can’t travel away from the other boy for too long.

“the one and only,” he boasts with as much pride he can muster, extending his hand politely.

“liam,” he shakes it firmly and introduces himself as if louis doesn’t already know. the boy turns his sights on zayn, “ _hi_ ,” he says pointedly. 

“hey,” zayn replies. his voice sounds shy but he leans on the doorframe with his hips cocked out like an invitation. louis resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“i uh, didn’t actually cook enough for three,” liam admits, looking between the two of them again and his expression reads guilt. it’s very endearing.

“hah, _you_ cooked,” harry cuts in, but his mouth is full of toothpaste and it comes out garbled, “that’s funny,” he adds.

“eugh haz, spit first,” liam says.

louis mutters, “that’s what she said,” because he can’t help himself, and it’s a cheap joke but it’s okay because harry gives him a foamy grin before he stalks off presumably to ditch the toothbrush.

“it’s fine,” louis tells liam, “i was just delivering the goods to your doorstep and heading off, anyway, i didn’t intend to stay.”

“where are you off to?” harry returns and crams into the doorway where they’re all standing about, eyeing him curiously.

 _home_ , is the honest answer but that’s lame. he says, “um.”

“i’m meeting a friend at this bar if you wanted to come,” harry offers, “or whatever.”

avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of zayn and the raised eyebrows of liam, louis smiles and says “yeah. that would be cool, or. whatever.”

-

despite the cold, harry wears this thin, cotton scoop-neck t-shirt that hangs off of his frame deliciously and keeps drawing louis’ eyes back to his collar bones. it’s becoming a serious problem when louis cant hold a conversation with him anymore, just stare stare _stare_ at his exposed skin.

“i like your suspenders,” harry comments lightly as they walk together.

“thanks,” he sends him a grin back, “i lke your um.” _bare skin, please show me more_ might be going a little too far, louis thinks, so he settles for, “t-shirt.”

harry smiles with dimples, “thanks.”

the bar they end up at is definitely more of a pub with a dancefloor and some pretty lights. “where are you meeting your mate?” louis asks as they walk in, shoving his ID back into his wallet and jamming it into his tight pants.

“behind the bar,” harry’s reply comes easily, as if people just go to bars to hang out with bartenders all the time, and he approaches the blonde guy who is foaming out one of the taps. louis follows obediently and tries not to stare at harry’s ass.

“harry!” the boy announces jovially.

“niall,” he begins, “this is louis. louis, this is niall. we mostly only keep him around because of alcohol and sometimes bar nuts.”

“don’t listen to a word he says,” niall says with an exaggerated wink, “what can I get for you?”

they end up with a couple of bacardi and cokes, and louis insists on a twirly little umbrella making an appearance in his after he’d seen niall put it in a girl’s pink cocktail. harry ushers him to a booth and they stare at each other drinking.

“really breaking the gay stereotype, aren’t we?” harry says eventually, eyes indicating the pink umbrella with a hint of amusement and perhaps mischief?

louis grins and feels his stomach flutter. harry is perfection and sin rolled up into one, and he would really love to get his hands on his collarbones, down his shirt and onto his belt buckle. he wants to swallow the way harry says _we_ off of his tongue and savor the taste.

“the turquoise pants might have given that away already,” louis says eventually, probably too long after harry’s original comment to even be relevant because louis just knows he’s been sitting here staring at harry; his mouth, his lips and his neck and collarbones.

harry smiles again, this time it’s still amused but maybe a little coy, too. he looks down into his drink before taking another big gulp, and louis’ stomach isn’t fluttering anymore, it’s flip-flopping back and forth every time harry does anything: blinks or breathes or shifts in his seat next to him.

by the time louis gets home, he knows niall’s full name, address and number because it’s stored in his phone and they’re apparently “the three best friends that anyone could something something” (he cant recall, he’s had a lot to drink). the same goes for harry; harry _styles_ who lives with liam and loves music and singing, loves to cram himself into tiny little basement venues and sing his heart out to indie bands that louis has probably never heard of. he knows all about harry’s hobbies, like how he can cook, and imagines the way he’d look with flour dusted lightly over his cheeks. he knows where he grew up, that harry and liam became roommates at boarding school and have been best friends ever since he stepped foot in the door all those many years ago. louis wishes he’d known harry for that long, but it’s okay because it kind of feels like he has, now that he knows he goes to the same college as louis and also loves the coffee from happy endings and the cheap noodles from japas on campus.

zayn’s light is off so he assumes he’s _actually_ still at liam’s, _actually_ maybe having sex this time, so louis strips off and drops down onto bed, jerking off lazily thinking of harry and those god damned collarbones.

-

“oh, you’re here,” he observes blearily in the early morning, having gotten up to go to the bathroom and seen in the soft , grey light that zayn actually was safe and sound in his own bed. alone.

zayn blinks up at him. “where else would i be?” he asks, sleep stuck in his throat like gravel.

“at liam’s,” louis responds blatantly, “you know. your boyfriend’s apartment. where boyfriends traditionally spend the night together, having sex.”

“so i’m told.” zayn rolls over in bed, not taking the bait.

louis drops down onto the spare space in the bed, still warm and inviting from where zayn has been sleeping. “how was your night?”

“really good, lou,” zayn is sleepy but genuine, “how was yours? with harry?”

there seems to be a hesitance in zayn’s voice, but it’s probably just distaste for the hour of the morning showing through. he tucks himself up against zayn. “really good,” louis tells him, a mirror image of lovestruck bliss, “like, really, really good. how I love harry styles, let me count the ways.”

the other boy’s chuckles vibrate off of him in bed, but he doesn’t say anything in response, and fair enough. louis has long-suffered reprimand for his uncontrollable energy at ass-oclock in the morning when zayn can’t muster rolling out of bed until well after midday. he must just be tired.

“I didn’t know you came home last night,” louis says, breaking the silence eventually, “otherwise I wouldn’t have jerked off so loud.”

he practically feels zayn roll his eyes. “go to sleep or get out.”

-

going out on a limb, louis slides onto the barstool opposite niall three nights later.

“louis!” the irishman calls out in delight, leaning his elbows on the bar top and smiling widely, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“was in the neighborhood,” it’s only a half lie because technically, _technically_ he does live nearby, “thought I’d stop by for a drink.”

“and what can I get for you?” niall asks without skipping a beat.

“surprise me,” he grins impishly across the bar, dim lights reflecting on the matching smile that nail sends him. a few moments later, he slides a glass across the bartop, complete with umbrella. “you remembered!” he says cheerily and taking a sip. peach fizz, and it pops across his tongue.

“i remembered,” niall agrees seriously with a nod.

louis gets to work with small talk. “busy night?”

the other boy makes a face and distractedly wipes away the counter in front of them, feigning occupation. “slow for a tuesday,” he tells him, “but the night seemingly just got better!”

“that’s what I’m here for,” louis mumbles into his drink with a saccharine smile, and niall is called away to serve another customer.

he talks bullshit with niall, favourite football teams and asking him to tell him more about why he decided to come here of all places from a small town in ireland? subtly making fun of overdressed girls who stumble in, having pre-gamed too hard, and louis can’t help but smile when niall laughs loudly at his jokes, throwing his whole body into it, hands covering his face.

and then he waits.

surely enough, twenty minutes, another two peach fizzes and a half-hearted thumb war later, someone slides into the seat next to him. “hello there, mate,” harry greets him with a smug sort of smile.

louis glances conspiratorially between niall and harry, but niall darts his gaze away and busies himself cleaning some broken glass. “just in the neighbourhood?” he asks.

“something like that,” harry agrees with a smile, eyes never leaving louis’. they’re very green and bright, not necessarily bright in colour, but in life and energy behind the gaze. “what’re you drinking?” he then asks, eyes still locked in louis’ while his hand reaches out and takes the drink from his grasp, hot, warm palm fumbling over his fingers for longer than it should. way longer than it has to.

harry takes a sip and licks his lips and louis can feel himself watching the movement of his tongue and feels himself crumble under the unbearable weight of being so, so upsettingly in love with harry styles. fuck.

out of the corner of his eye, louis sees niall snigger as he watches him reach back for his cocktail.

he has the good sense to blush and be a little bit embarrassed.

-

when louis gets home, he’s surprised to see liam and zayn wrapped around each other on the couch. not _literally_ though because their weird ban on sex is still going. when louis gets there with harry ( _and he eventually will_ ) sex will most likely be the first thing they do. locked in a room. for hours, if not days on end.

“oh, hi.”

“well, that was a friendly greeting,” zayn says under his breath as he pauses the movie.

“I was surprised to see liam sitting on my couch. I was like, expressing my wonder with the way I said ‘oh’,” louis defends himself slowly, assessing the situation. he only just stepped in the door but the air is already thick with tension and he doesn’t know why, “and then I said ‘hi’. is that not acceptable behaviour?”

zayn just rolls his eyes and looks impatient. he and liam are cocooned in blankets on the living room couch, all that’s showing of liam is his tuft of hair and wide eyes as he watches the exchange between zayn and louis. “hi,” liam says tentatively.

“you’re in a weird mood,” louis says then, with no caution at all, throwing his keys and wallet down on the table, “i don’t know how you put up with him, liam.”

“where were you tonight?” zayn asks sharply.

“harry and I had a drink.”

“ _again_?”

louis makes a petulant ‘oooh’ sound. “you jealous?” he teases.

“nothing to be jealous of,” zayn says stiffly, looking straight ahead again at the television despite the paused framing.

“what’s the matter with you?” louis asks, more demanding. the joke has disappeared from his voice.

“nothing,” zayn says lightly. louis notices that even less of liam is showing out from underneath the blankets now, like he’s trying to escape whatever the fuck is going on between him and zayn. “nothing at all,” he says with an air of finality, jaw set tight.

the room is still for another moment; another very prolonged, awkward moment, and louis feels awkward and self conscious but he doesn’t know why. it’s not a feeling he’s used to having much at all; loud and shameless as he is, but certainly not a feeling he’s used to experiencing with zayn. “oookay,” he drawls eventually, “I’m going to bed. liam, it’s been a pleasure. have fun _not_ doing it.”

he expects the remote thrown at him as he walks down the hall, but zayn seems to be even angrier than expected if he’s not sending objects flying at louis’ head.

-

louis almost drops his laptop and coffee cup and phone, and the bag slung over his shoulder as he approaches one of the campus libraries the next morning just so he can take a photo and send it to zayn with the caption _this is whre u met th luv of ur lyf_ because that’s what he does whenever he goes to the library until he remembers he’s kind of angry at zayn.

or, well. zayn’s kind of angry at him, more to the point.

there’s no way in the world zayn could genuinely be _jealous_ of his newfound love for harry styles, considering that he walks around most days with liam-shaped hearts in his eyes.

(besides, he and zayn have never had that type of relationship except for maybe, y’know, a few rounds of spin the bottle and some awkward groping because that’s what growing up and going through puberty and finding out that “um, i think i might like boys” and “me too. i mean, i think i like boys as well” at the same time makes that kind of inevitable, right?)

the fact is, ever since louis discovered the eighth wonder of the world (harry), zayn’s been acting really, really weird. and that makes louis stand in front of the library, blinking up at the building through his glasses in the morning chill with a frown.

“louis?” a voice comes from behind him, followed by a hand on the nape of his neck.

“harry,” he turns to look at him and his stomach is so past flip flopping, its simply somersaulting all over the place just at the sight and feel of harry who stands very close to him and looks sleep warmed in a pair of sweats and a beanie covering his hair.

“fancy meeting you here,” harry says with a smile.

“i’ve been getting a lot of drinks in seedy bars with boys lately,” louis quips, “thought i’d better pull my head in and get some work done.”

the other boy’s smile grows, and he moves away from louis a little, hand sliding off of his shoulder and he misses the touch as soon as it goes. “so you thought that standing outside the library and staring at it might, what? help you study via osmosis or something?”

“i got, ah,” he tries, “lost in an ocean of my own thoughts.” louis frowns and then slaps himself internally with how stupid it sounded.

his scrunched nose has made his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and he jerks his hands to fix them but they’re full so he does this awkward half bend to try and meet his head halfway with his hands but he fails miserably. 

“here, did you want,” harry’s bottom lip is between his teeth as he reaches out, never finishing his sentence. his pointer finger finds the middle bridge of his glasses and pushes them up for him.

“thanks,” louis says softly.

“anytime you need a spare hand,” harry says quietly.

the innuendo is on the tip of his tongue, but for once, louis just lets it die and just linger there in the gaze through his eyelashes instead; the smile that spreads across his face says it all. a blush washes over harry’s cheeks, pink and pretty, and he bites his bottom lip again, looking down at his shoes.

“i, uh. i mean,” harry stammers, “um.” he gives up, chuckling low and manly and scrubbing a hand across his face, “hey, did you want to grab some coffee or something? it’s kind of cold.”

louis isn’t really feeling the cold.

he looks down at the cup from happy endings in his hands, knows he should go inside and do work, but. “yeah,” he says, “yeah, this is empty anyway.”

walking towards the student union, he drops his cup in a trash can and pointedly ignores the heavy thud of his full coffee cup, hoping harry doesn’t hear it either. if he hasn’t heard the loud beat of louis’ heart every time he comes near by now, louis is sure he won’t have listened out for the cup falling into the bin.

-

books still untouched in his bags and laptop unopened in its case, louis arrives back to the flat later that afternoon to empty rooms and silence. normally, zayn would leave a note or something, but there’s nothing, just the optimistic paper on which louis had scrawled earlier _gone studyin’ xo_ entirely untouched on their little entrance table.

his sigh is loud enough to fill the whole apartment as he drops his bag.

louis is drooling ramen broth down his chin and speed reading _who’s afraid of virginia wolf_ at the kitchen bench, making up for the day he wasted at uni with harry, when the front door slams.

“hi,” zayn sort of blinks at him awkwardly for a few seconds.

louis slurps up his noodles loudly, “hey there.” he watches zayn push up the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “where’ve you been?” he asks him.

“at liam’s.” realistically, he could have predicted the answer before it was given to him, but it still puts louis on edge for some reason. that’s only heightened when zayn takes off his coat and unwraps his scarf from around his neck and reveals twin hickeys bruising the side of his neck.

“um, okay,” it slips out of louis’ mouth before he can help it, “wow.”

“what?” his eyes narrow and find louis, like zayn’s just daring him to _say something more, come on._

louis can’t help himself, he takes the bait like a shark swimming around in chum. “so you finally let liam fuck you, huh?”

“sod off.” zayn’s gaze is icy as he storms around louis and into the kitchen, slamming his jacket and scarf down on the bench and splashing louis’ noodles around a little. louis swallows, loud. the hostility in the room is pretty much palpable.

“what?” he pretty much shouts as ramen broth soaks into his copy of _virginia wolf_ , “i’m not wrong, am i? pretty shitty of you, zayn, to go along with liam _saving yourself_ ,” he sneers with mockery, “and then you give it up to him because you’re angry with me?” louis corrects himself, “because you’re _jealous_ of me?”

“why the fuck would I be jealous of you?” he throws back, and an awful sort of smile has spread across zayn’s face has he shouts at louis.

“because I’m happy with harry!” and okay, maybe him and harry aren’t officially a thing yet, but they will be. they _certainly_ will be, and zayn’s just _jealous._

“no, _I’m_ happy with liam,” zayn tells him like he’s stupid, leaning in to talk to him like he’s a kid, “you’re trailing around after harry like a puppy dog in love and guess what? he likes girls, lou. harry likes _girls_.”

zayn’s mouth keeps moving but it means nothing to louis. his stomach feels like it just caved in, like he’s been punched. he thinks about the small touches and the electricity he’d felt between harry’s fingers and his skin, and the dimples pushing out of harry’s cheeks when he smiled at him. there’s something there. harry can’t be straight, he just. he can’t.

when louis ears stop ringing, when the planets that have tilted realign and return to their natural state, when the cities that just crumbled build themselves back up, he tunes back into what zayn is telling him, “why do you think I tried to stop you from going after him? I’m not jealous of you louis, I’m trying to do the right thing by you because you’re my best mate and now you’re gonna get hurt by some nice, straight guy who just doesn’t understand how you feel.”

“you’re wrong.”

“yeah, okay louis, _sure_ ,” zayn mutters and rolls his eyes, stalking past him again and down the hallway.

“maybe he’s bi. maybe harry liked girls up until me,” he yells after zayn, sliding off of the stool and following him, determination to prove zayn wrong surging through him like its in his blood. “maybe he’s gay-specific,” he says, matter-of-fact, “you know, love isn’t about gender, zayn, it’s about a connection between two people.”

“which would explain why harry led on some old friend of theirs for a few months, hooked up with him and then had a big, gay freak-out, wouldn’t it?” louis feels his heart sink, like his organs are shifting to make room for his heart plummeting to his feet. zayn pauses in the doorway of his room and turns to look at louis, “he doesn’t like you the way you like him.”

he watches something soften in zayn’s gaze, something like pity seeps into his perception of louis but zayn doesn’t move to comfort him, just slams the bedroom door behind him and leaves louis alone.

-

he wallows for as long as is louis-tomlinson-appropriate, and then heads out to niall’s bar. where, if he’s being honest, he’s still wallowing, but he’s doing so with a bottle of tequila.

“i don’t think we’ve served tequila shots on a sunday night in years,” the irishman quips as louis licks the salt off of his hand with a despondent look in his eyes, “not since I started working here, at least.”

“there’s a first time for everything,” he tells niall, raising the shot glass in faux cheer and thinking of harry.

someone slides into the stool next to him, and he thinks of harry again, and his chest tightens and throat burns from the alcohol, and he turns in surprise to see liam. “i’ll have the cheapest beer you guys have in a bottle, thanks mate,” the boy tells niall.

“what, no diet coke, this time?”

“niall,” liam says sharply, but it sounds tired to louis’ ears.

“i thought you don’t really drink,” he observes out loud, because zayn is a bank full of useless little facts about liam and somewhere along the way louis became an investor there.

the other boy gives a sardonic sort of smile, “i don’t,” he says, accepting the sweating bottle from niall across the countertop, “not really.”

“oooookay,” louis drawls out skeptically, and then quickly catches niall before he flits off again, “niall, I’ll grab another, as well.”

“hah,” he laughs like something is genuinely funny, “yeah, sure, okay, i’ll just go get you your sixth shot of hard liquor in the forty minutes you’ve been drinking here by yourself. be right back,” and he laughs again, bright and loud before running off, presumably to bring louis his drink like he said he would. right?

“m’not alone anymore,” he mumbles, casting gaze back to liam who is staring down his bottle, “what brings you here, anyway?”

liam’s face goes all funny, like he doesn’t know what to say until he finally just says, “zayn and I had a fight.”

“trouble in paradise?” louis responds dramatically, faking falling off of his stool but maybe truly fumbling around on it a little bit because _alcohol_ , “this can’t be! and after the consummation of your one true love and everything!”

“are you quite finished?” liam is staring him down, now.

“are you?” he quips, “oh wait, you finished yourself off inside of zayn, didn’t you?” he asks, throwing a lemon slice that he sucked on aimed somewhere at liam’s head with a giggle.

liam just lets it go, lets him talk shit with nothing but a sigh and another gulp of his beer. “i so get why zayn loves you,” he tells liam.

“i don’t think he likes me very much at the moment,” liam muses, peeling at the label on the beer bottle.

louis asks, “whaddidya fight about?”

liam looks at him, “you, mostly.”

he feels guilt surge through him, fire up in his stomach but he doesn’t even know why or if he should feel that way, he just does. “i shouldn’t be telling you this,” liam says right away, hands stopping as if guilt visits him as well.

“liam,” he tries, not really sure what he’s going to say, “just.”

the tone is desperate enough, apparently, because liam sighs. “he kind of. convinced me to have sex with him, I guess,” he sounds torn up about it, like what happened was wrong, “that sounds bad, I wanted to, I _did_ , I always have, we just. we promised to take it slow and I knew he was angry at you and we just did it, and.” he takes a breath as if collecting his thoughts, “it felt like the whole time he was taking it out on me. everything with you. call me crazy, but that’s not how i wanted my first time with zayn to be,” he says, chugging down the rest of his beer.

“i’m sorry,” louis says finally, quietly.

liam shrugs, “you didn’t do anything to me. zayn’s probably the one we both need to talk with.”

louis lays his head down on the sticky bartop, pit of his stomach feeling all churny. it all makes sense now, and he wishes he could go back to his conversation with zayn and grab the words he’d said, cram them back into his mouth and pretend they’d never happened. he kind of wishes he could force feed zayn his words too; get that terrible revelation of harry out of his mind. 

“you should talk to him,” he tells liam, “he really does, you know.”

“what?”

“love you.”

liam chuckles, low in his throat, as if louis is talking nonsense, “we’ve only been together a couple of months, louis.”

“trust me, liam, when you know, you know. you know?”

“i know.” liam smiles and it’s a little sad, mirrored pity from the way zayn was staring at him earlier. “we should get you home. you wanna go home?”

“i really don’t,” louis wrinkles his nose and raises his head but the world starts spinning, “zayn’s at home.”

“alright then, come on,” liam offers him an arm, and louis takes it.

-

liam’s couch is comfortable, totally not made out of skin and louis drunkenly sinks into it like a dead weight in quicksand. “totally not made out of skin,” he mumbles into liam’s collarbone as the older boy leans over to lay him down on it.

“huh?”

“n’vermimd. where’s harry?”

“in bed,” liam mutters, “that’s why we’re using our inside voices, remember?”

he has vague recollection of a stern talking to on the way to the flat and some shushing noises, but louis’ brain is currently operating akin to a goldfish. “harry,” he whines, “bed,” he mumbles.

“couch,” liam reaffirms. he tugs louis’ arms up and his shirt comes off swiftly. he throws the blanket that rests over the edge of the couch over louis before disappearing into the kitchen.

he reappears, a glass of water and a couple of pills in hand.

“trying to date rape me?” louis asks with what he’s sure is a seductive grin, running a hand down his now exposed chest.

“take these and drink this,” liam instructs, “you’ll feel unstoppable in the morning.”

louis breaks out into a slurred, broken version of queen’s _don’t stop me now_ as liam skulks off to his own bedroom, the soft click of the door barely masked behind louis’ singing. he giggles loudly at himself, once, twice, and then the room goes black around him. 

-

he is most definitely still drunk, though not entirely sure how long it is before he wakes, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he’s not imagining harry standing over him. “louis?” the younger boy asks.

“that’s really creepy,” louis says, brain-to-mouth-filter free since ’91.

harry perches on the edge of the couch, bare hip touching louis bare chest, and the shiver he omits involuntarily doesn’t nearly cover how _affected_ he feels. “what are you doing here?” harry asks softly, looking perplexed.

“liam saved me. knight in shining armor, he is. gravity and a bar stool and zayn were all trying to defeat me and he _saved me_ , harry. harry. _harold._ ”

harry isn’t even listening to him. in fact when louis’ bleary eyes reach his face in the darkness of the living room, he sees that harry’s eyes are trained somewhere on his torso. soon joined by his hand, his large, warm, soft hand that reaches out gently but not hesitantly to trail a hand up his sternum. harry looks _entranced_ , and in the fulcrum between drunk and sleepy, louis understands the look in his eyes well enough to think and to _feel_ ; to feel like harry’s looking at him the way he looks at him all the time.

“i. uh.”

louis is lost for words (for once) as a sleep-warmed, boxer-clad, mussed-haired harry styles leans down and looms into his space, breath washing over his cheek and it’s all warm and intimate and perfect. “harry,” he tries one more time, head spinning.

“you done talking?” harry asks him with a fond smirk that crinkles in the corner of his eyes and pushes the dimples out, but it all blurs as he gets closer and kisses louis straight on the mouth.

louis’ _feelings_ tug so hard in his stomach that he thinks he must just be bleeding internally and for a moment, he forgets to kiss back but then the reality that _harry’s kissing you, you twat_ sets in and his lips start working. he opens up and harry doesn’t waste any time falling into the kiss, tendrils of hair tickling louis’ cheeks as they press open mouthed kisses into each other.

louis feels dizzy, breathing through his nose and breathing in the scent of harry. it’s musky and manly and perfect. he thinks, _finally,_ and maybe tries to say it out loud as well because he muffles something against harry’s mouth without meaning to and his tongue flicks up to meet harry’s lips. _whoops_. but harry responds by curling a hand under louis neck and pulling him up, licking into his mouth.

hastily, harry breaks away to straddle louis on the couch, legs extending to kick over the abandoned glass of water that liam left earlier in the process. louis watches it soak into the carpet as harry sucks bruises down his neck urgently. harry’s tongue is on his collarbones and chest and his nipples and louis arches up into it, it feels _so good,_ and then harry licks his way back into his mouth. 

he can feel the hard press of harry’s cock against his thigh, wiggling underneath them to align their hips and grind their dicks together through the flimsy material of their boxers. “oh,” harry’s eyes flutter open above him and he curses, “oh, fuck.”

louis reaches around, hand slipping into the back of harry’s boxers to grab a handful of his ass and pull him closer, keep him in place as they grind up and down on one another. “lou, louis, lou, _fuck,_ ” now _harry_ won’t stop talking and louis watches him, watches the way he licks and bites his lips and chants his name with every tandem roll of their hips.

harry’s mouth is on him again, hot and wet, his curls are suffocating his space in the best way imaginable, and harry bucks up his dick against louis’ again and again, with no finesse or rhythm and louis knows he’s close, and he’s close too, their feet tangled and both their toes curling, tongues curling together in louis’ mouth. louis comes in his pants and that’s gross, but it feels good. harry makes this _noise,_ his thighs tensing around louis’ and he’s coming too, seeping into the material of his little grey boxers and making louis’ jeans even more sticky.

his chest heaves. louis feels good. his stomach hasn’t uncurled since harry started touching him, and he’s still kissing him, shirtless and hair everywhere, and it’s sensory overload, it feels so good it’s almost bad.

louis imagines his feelings for harry are set in stone, churning around in his gut and everything feels so good that it’s almost suffocating and sickening. harry’s curls cling to his chest and it’s too much, his stomach clenching and his chest tight. he heaves, gags a little. “lou, are you—“ harry’s voice is husky and spent as louis shoves him off and vomits on the floor.

-

he’s a coward, but at least he can admit it (to himself). louis’ stomach is still churning as the door to his flat slams behind him, bitter taste lingering only faintly in his mouth because harry had given him a _goddamn_ glass of water after he threw up, the polite mother fucker.

his skin is bristled with goose bumps all over, cold from the walk home. his coat is still somewhere at harry’s house, somewhere strewn away with his pride and self control, no doubt. louis had walked home with come still cooling on his skin, making his pants stick to his skin uncomfortably. he’d slipped out quietly while harry was in the laundry grabbing something to clean up his vomit on the carpet.

he knew, because the younger boy had whispered gently against his forehead, “i’ll be right back,” offering comfort, but it made louis’ skin prickle uncomfortably. still did, just thinking about it.

in zayn’s room, louis shucks off his pants and crawls into bed. it’s got to be past four, but he’s still awake and salty lines streak his cheeks.

louis buries his face in zayn’s bruised neck, mouths an apology there and zayn gulps, “I know,” as his hand finds louis’ hair, gently scratching circles into his scull until sleep comes.

in the morning, zayn says, “you smell like jizz.”

louis groans, head pounding, and burrows into the pillows. the silence becomes thick and awkward, and he hears zayn’s small _oh_. then he waits for the storm, but it never comes. “what happened?” he asks in a small voice, sliding his hand onto the back of his neck and rubbing soothingly.

“harry and i,” louis answers stupidly, “we did things.”

“that’s, uh. that’s good, right? i mean.”

louis rolls over, shrugging the other boy’s hand off. “he likes girls,” he says, staring zayn in the face, “remember?”

-

repressing the events of That Night become increasingly difficult as harry wont leave him the fuck alone.

the onslaught of texts begin at hangover breakfast time the morning after, a single _?_. louis’ lit student brain watches the question mark on his screen, symbolism flying around in his pounding head before another mouthful of bacon.

zayn’s flipping his own eggs in the pan when louis locks his phone and dares to ask, “what happened with harry and that other boy?”

“louis,” he begins warningly, “do you really—“

“i’d just like to know,” he says solemnly enough to cut zayn off.

“liam said that it was a while ago now,” he explains, leaning against the stove tiredly as if saying liam’s name drains energy out of him, “they were good friends, he was openly gay and harry wasn’t. isn’t,” he insists, and he may as well be driving that spatula in his hand through louis’ heart, but he needs to hear this. it’s okay. “lots of mixed emotions, and now they don’t talk, and harry still brings girls home.”

louis just says, “okay,” simple and final so that zayn knows that he’s heard enough.

his phone vibrates again with a message _lou?_ he closes his eyes, and they sting against his eyelids.

“m’going back to bed,” he tells zayn, and leaves his breakfast unfinished on the bench.

-

louis ignores harry for as long as humanly possible. he employs a strong resolve and ignores all text messages, phone calls and voice mails and tries to leave the house as infrequently as possible. he’s developed a habit of ignoring the door when there’s a knock; zayn complaining loudly every time he has to answer it.

“if it’s harry again,” zayn warns, tumbling off the couch and ruffling his hair.

louis swats the hand away, “you’ll tell him exactly what you’ve told him the last time.”

“the last six times,” he hears zayn mutter under the incessant knocking on their front door. louis sinks further into the couch and trains his eyes on the television.

“harry,” zayn’s voice carries very loudly and deliberately through the flat, “how’re you doing, mate?”

louis tries not to listen, instead focuses on getting so low to the ground that harry wont be able to see the top of his head from the doorway. all he really hears is zayn saying “nope,” and “no,” and “sorry,” a bunch of times. louis bites his lip, tuning in to hear, “erm, well. if he comes by.. well, I mean, of course he’ll be by, it’s _his_ flat. but erm, the next time you see him, could you tell him. erm, well, basically tell him i’d like to see him,” before the door is closed with a gentle thud.

“you’re a shitty liar,” louis tells him.

“yeah, well. i’m the only liar you’ve got,” zayn disappears into the kitchen for a little while, leaving louis dreadfully alone with his thoughts. in the past couple of days, louis has had more quality time alone with zayn since the other boy met liam. two wrongs don’t really make a right, but right now, they do create an escape route, which is what louis needs from harry, and zayn thinks he needs from liam.

zayn plops down on the couch with a steaming mug. “this is getting ridiculous, lou.”

“i agree one hundred percent! you never make me tea, and it’s always only for yourself,” he complains, hand snaking into zayn’s lap and reaching for his mug.

“stop avoiding the question.”

“stop avoiding liam.”

“i’m not avoiding liam,” zayn insists defensively, “avoiding liam would be ignoring his calls and pretending not to live at my home address anymore,” he jabs at louis’ shoulder, “ _you_ stop avoiding _harry_.”

“so if you’re not avoiding liam, what are you doing with him?” louis really doesn’t want to talk about the harry thing, not again. the beautiful thing about zayn is that he can talk about himself until the cows come home, he’s so vain: not at all in a bad way. right now, it’s he’s best quality, as he’s impervious to resist louis’ prompting.

“i’m apologizing,” zayn responds indignantly.

“have you actually said sorry?”

“it’s more of an apology without words,” he ponders, blowing on his tea, “like a ‘ _sorry for prematurely fucking you, I’ll give you some space_ ’.”

“that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” louis tells him, “you’re an idiot.”

“yeah, well,” zayn takes a large gulp of his tea, apparently appropriate drinking temperature now, so he hands it over to louis, “takes one to know one.”

-

louis snaps a photo of the library and sends it to zayn. _1 day, u and leeum are gonna hav ur commitment ceremony on these steps. TALK TO HIM!!!_

his reply is immediate, _from now on you can answer your own door_

louis laughs as he tucks his phone into his pocket and navigates the library, looking for a place to study. it’s a pretty quiet evening on campus, which is why he wants to laugh out loud and punch a hole in the wall when he spots harry and niall sitting close together two tables away from where he was headed.

the minute he sees them, louis tries to turn and flee without looking like a total twat, but irony and fate and karma apparently all have different plans because he hears niall say, “hey, isn’t that louis? hey, hey louis!”

he tries, steps hurrying, but then there’s a hand on his arm before he can reach the stairs. “louis,” harry says breathlessly.

louis turns to meet him face to face, and takes his arm out of harry’s grip right away. “hey,” he says, brain screaming _BE CASUAL._

“i was calling out to you,” harry tells him.

“musn’t have heard you,” he feigns casual, palms sweating, “bad hearing, you know.”

“so, your hearing fail you on your texts and phone calls as well, or?” harry leaves the question open ended, giving time for louis’ stomach to hurt and throat to close over.

after a while, louis quietly asks, “what do you want me to say, harry?”

“did I do something wrong?” the younger boy asks, green eyes looking bright and open and scared, “i mean, liam told me the next day that you guys had been drinking but i didn’t realize you were drunk enough for it to be considered taking advantage, or.”

“you didn’t take advantage of me, harry,” louis tells him, but sighs and hangs his head, “or maybe you did. look, you know i wanted what happened,” he admits, eyes trained on the floor.

“so what’s the problem?” harry asks, and he sounds desperate.

“you know i wanted what happened,” he repeats with a shrug.

harry says very, very quietly, “louis.”

“look!” he explodes, he can’t help it, and he takes another step back from harry, “i really like you harry: you’re fun and sexy and you made me come in my pants, but i refuse to be the subject of another big gay freak out. i’m not an experiment, okay?”

with that, he stalks off, ignoring the stares. perhaps he may have yelled a little too loud.

-

he can’t get the image of harry’s frowning face out if his mind. louis makes a beeline for zayn’s bedroom when he gets home, looking for some sympathy, but immediately regrets opening the door.

“jesus christ!” he yelps, scrambling to get out.

liam is about as red as a tomato. he knows zayn couldn’t care less because it’s nothing they haven’t seen of anything before, but louis doesn’t fancy seeing liam’s body, naked and _bending_ like that.

resigned to the fact that he needs to seek sympathy at the bottom of a packet of crisps instead of zayn, louis wades through the cupboard and pulls out a block of chocolate and a can of diet coke, as well.

less than ten minutes later, the pair of them emerge into the living room. “that was fast,” louis comments with a mouthful of chocolate, raising an eyebrow. it’s pretty fun making liam’s skin turn all splotchy.

“fuck up,” zayn says, “you killed the mood.”

“i’m personally offended you didn’t invite me to join your make-up sex, really,” he replies indignantly, digging his hand into the packet of crisps.

liam makes a face, “threesomes, not really my thing.”

“you know what they say,” louis tries with what is an attempt at a seductive smile, “a change is as good as a holiday.”

liam drops down on the couch next to louis, pulling zayn with him. “not sure if we could do the threesome thing,” zayn says as liam’s arms encircle his waist. clearly, zayn decided to apologize with words and then not with words, again. louis feels a pang of guilt somewhere in his abdomen, happy for them but jealous.

louis snorts, “you could _totally_ do the threesome thing.”

“i meant _you_ and me,” he clarifies before turning to liam, “if you and i were gonna have a threesome, it’d need to be with like, niall.”

liam frowns, “niall’s straight.”

“harry, then,” zayn rectifies, reaching for louis’ coke. just hearing his name makes louis’ chest hurt.

“yeah, but harry’s all hyper and ridiculous,” liam is carrying along this conversation like it’s a real possibility, “we’d have to tie him down to actually get anything done.”

“yeah but,” louis looks between them, “harry’s straight too, though.” an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. “harry’s straight, right?” he asks again, louder and feeling really awkward and nervous in the pit of his stomach. “the guy he was almost with, he freaked out on because he doesn’t like boys. right?”

liam glances at zayn, “well,” he begins.

“wait,” louis cuts him off, doesn’t really care what he has to say aside from, “point blank. he’s not straight?”

“not entirely, no,” liam says with a small smile that is totally inappropriate for the revelation that’s taking place, “is this why you’ve been avoiding him?”

louis listens, staring at zayn, hard and cold. “when i get back here, i’m going to murder you and make it look like an accident.”

-

he shuffles foot to foot outside harry’s door before knocking, feeling somewhere between embarrassed and brave.

“louis,” harry says. he’ll never be entirely sick of harry saying his name; the way he can make it sound vital and new and like it never has before. the way his grainy voice loops around the word makes him feel important and more than just a name. when harry sees him, calls him, he’s seeing _him_. the thought makes him loopy and suddenly desperate.

unexpectedly, he feels breathless and lost for words. “liam said that you weren’t entirely straight,” he says, entirely ineloquent.

a sad smile plays its way across harry’s face, “the making out didn’t tip you off?”

“no, i just,” louis tries, but his voice breaks off in his throat.

“i really like you louis,” harry tells him, repeating louis’ own words from earlier in the library without the bite. the air between them crackles and pops, and louis gets this funny feeling in his feet like when he is too close to the edge of a tall cliff or on the very top story of a building. “you could never be just an experiment.”

“but zayn said,” he begins, “I mean, liam told zayn.”

“about nick, i’m assuming?” harry says, leaning on the doorframe looking deflated. “there were a number of reasons why me and him wouldn’t have worked out. the fact that he was a boy had nothing to do with it. it was just a convenient excuse.”

harry doesn’t sound proud or smug, he sounds sad and ashamed.

louis lets out a small “oh,” to fill the silence that settles over them.

“i really like you,” harry repeats emphatically, standing tall again, “you’re loud and silly and you told _everyone_ in the library about the awesome sex we had. i’ve never met anyone like you.”

“now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“i mean it,” he says earnestly, reaching out for louis’ hand. “take it as my apology, for making you confused.”

“if anyone should apologize, it’s me,” louis takes his hand and rubs circles into harry’s palm. “i mean, i told everyone in the library about the awesome sex we had.” he recalls with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and for the first time in a week, louis watches harry laugh bright, wide and honest with his head tipped back.

“if you really want to make it up to me,” the curly haired boy says, pulling louis flush towards his body, lips hovering over his, “let’s do it again.”

louis feels his brain melt and his organs liquefy as harry closes the door behind them, mouth warm against his like a homecoming.

-

louis clutches his _virginia wolf_ paper in his hand, proud of the B- he mustered up between fighting with zayn and thinking harry was straight and then actually having a lot of antithesis confirming sex with harry. hurrying through the freshly fallen snow on his way to happy endings to meet up with said boy, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

a picture of liam and harry’s apartment door from zayn _this is where you met the love of your life,_ it says.

he spots a mop of curly hair through the window of the coffee shop, smiles fondly and replies, _so it is._


End file.
